Whispers in the Dark
by ZeDancingHobbit
Summary: All Blaise wants to do is wake up from this nightmare. Blairemy. Angsty, with a happy ending. Mild language and some light adult themes. One shot. Complete.


**Hello everybody! I don't know if you know (I KNOW YOU KNOW THAT I'M NOT TELLING THE TRUTH [sorry couldn't resist X3]) but I did a one shot concerning Jeremy being stabbed and dying and Blaise falling apart. Well, I did it again, except this one will have a happy ending(; (Spoilers haha) I don't pass up a chance to put Blaise through the emotional wringer, but we'll let her have some happiness. **

**Okay, off the subject, tell me if I'm wrong, but am I true in saying that Jeremy is getting REALLY sexy? I'm not even kidding. I am about as attracted to him as I am to Mal. I don't know how it happened, I was just playing the other day and I was just like, "...damn. Wow." I want a Jeremy X3 **

**Oh, by the way, there's a bit of minor language and adult content (nothing too serious, but you might want to know) in this. You've been warned. **

**And the title is taken from Skillet's 'Whispers in the Dark'. **

**Enjoy! **

DISCLAIMER: I don't own CoD. If I did, there would be a ton more whumpage. Just saying.

Her mind goes a thousand miles an hour as she sprints down the corridor. Okay. All she has to do is find Jeremy and Angel. That's it. Hopefully they've fought off the ghost long enough to get away. Blaise shoots through the hall, not caring whether she runs into anyone or not. She pushes through the swinging door and wildly surveys the parking lot. "Jeremy?" she calls loudly, hand already pulling out her gun. No Ghost, no Angel, no Jeremy, no car...they must've-oh god. Please let that not be him, she prays as she sees the still body on the pavement. But it is him, with his usually pristine uniform soaked in blood, a knife stuck in his chest. The first few seconds are shocked, electrified. Then it hits her like a ton of bricks, and she screams out, "Oh, god, Jeremy!"

Then she's running towards him and kneeling on the pavement and oh god oh god all she can do is call his name over and over again as she makes sure he still has a pulse and puts a shaking hand over that wound- oh, god it's hilt-deep -and her hand is touching his face as she just repeats "Jeremy, Jeremy, Jeremy".

There's so much blood...how can there even be that much blood in one body? It's oozing out over her fingers and painting lines in the cracks on her skin. It's bubbling and soaking his clothes, her sleeve, the ground. There's a huge puddle on the concrete dyed an angry red. Too much blood.

He heaves for breath, a few wheezy coughs making their way out of his diaphragm. She dimly hears Mal and Natara, and it snaps her out of her daze long enough to yell at them, "Don't just stand there! Someone call a goddamn ambulance!" Why didn't she? Where's her radio? Whatever, Mal's doing it. She turns her attention back to attempting to stop the flow of angry flow.

Jeremy's breath starts to slow, his eyelids begin to droop. "No, no, no, Jeremy," Blaise orders frantically, shaking him slightly to wake him up. But it's no use, and his eyes close and his head lolls to the side. "Jeremy?" she whispers, terror locking her windpipe. No. No, please no please let him breath no move chest move! But it's not moving and he's not breathing, and even though she shakes him and screams his name ("Jeremy?!") and threatens him and does mouth to mouth...

It's useless.

He never had a chance.

OoOoO

The next few days are a blur. Go to sleep. Wake up. Eat something (she never knows what. It all tastes like sawdust). Go to the precinct. Get sent home by Anders. Help mom.

She hopes this is all a bad dream. It could be one, she supposes, but she has a gut feeling that it's not. This is real, this is happening, and it's never going to end. Life is a nightmare.

Her mother is concerned, she knows. But she just can't open up. No-one can reach her. Not Natara, not Amy, not even Mal can get through the wall she's put up. It's better this way.

Look what happened last time.

OoOoO

A week later. She doesn't want to be here. It's not right. It's sunshiny outside. Birds are singing (she wants to shoot them all). In the movies it's always raining, right? Why isn't it raining? Tears well up in her eyes, but she blinks them away. Not now. Not ever. She's not gonna cry.

It was a beautiful service, she guesses. There were a ton of people there. There are a ton of flowers, and he's buried just through a grove of trees on a slight hill in the graveyard (that is such a dirty word). A canopy was set up, where everyone sat, out of the hot sun, and it'll be taken down soon. The place is pristine, just like Jeremy. ...Was.

God, this sucks.

Someone places a hand on her shoulder, snapping her momentarily out of the fog, and she glances up to see Mal. "That was good," he says, and when she stares at him, not understanding, he says, "what you said about him."

Oh. It was just a few words. She can't even remember what she said anymore. Something about him being a "good guy" and a "great partner" and how "we'll all miss him" and some other crap like that. No-one will know just how much she'll miss him. And they probably never will.

Mal sees Natara standing by a table, and he pats Blaise sympathetically on the shoulder before moving over to his girlfriend. Pretty much everyone has gone, leaving only her, Mal, Natara, and those cleaning up standing around. Blaise takes the opportunity to cross through some trees and over the rise to the little patch of fresh dirt and flowers, a flag and stone decorating the head of the plot.

She waits there for a few seconds, studying the stone. "You would like this," she finally tells it. "'Loved son and friend. Forever living in our hearts.' Quick. To the point. Just like you." She manages a half smile, remembering his blunt, black-and-white statements. "Your dad was here," she changes the subject, the memories beginning to be too painful. "And that one girl. You know, your friend. I can't remember her name." She sighs. "They were pretty torn up. 'Specially your dad. Apparently they had some ceremony back at the reservation for you." She looks at the sky, a wistful tone entering her voice. "I think you would've been glad."

Would've. Should've. Could've. Might've. Past tense, past tense.

Suddenly she's angry. Angry at him, angry at the Ghost, angry at herself, the world, everything. He's the easiest to yell at at the moment, however, so she snaps, "Why did you do it, Jer? He was old, anyways, and he's dead now, and-you wasted-how could you do that?" Her hands are clenched into fists, nails digging into her palms as she berates him. "Your father was crying. Crying. You ripped him apart. Oh, sure, it's easy for you to be fine, you're-" Her throat suddenly seizes up. Oh, no. She can't say it. She can't. The word will not physically come out. She swallows and continues on. "What about the ones who are left, huh? What about the ones who have to go home and know that they'll never see you again? What about the promises you made? How could you be so selfish? What about me?!" She realizes suddenly that she's screaming at a grave, at a dead man who won't talk back and probably can't hear, but she doesn't care, and keeps on yelling. "You said you'd be there! I need help! You were going to help me!"

Tears start rolling down her face.

One-wiped away.

Another-wiped away.

Two-she misses one and it falls off her chin.

For every tears that falls, there are two more, and suddenly she's full-on sobbing, her face in her hands and wet drips spattering her shirt. "How could you leave, Jer? How could you leave me here?"

The pain is so great she can't stop crying, even when she is crying so hard she has to bend over, her hand pressed against her mouth, and even when her knees become so weak they give out and she hits the ground. The floodgates open, ripping her apart and flinging her wide. She is so ashamed of herself for crying-big girls don't cry- but oh, it is so hard to stop, and there's something good in the feeling of release- but oh, it hurts. She hasn't experienced pain like this before, the only thing coming close to it being perhaps when her father left. Why, why, why? They were just screw buddies, it shouldn't be this agonizing, they weren't in love or anything.

But she doesn't care at the moment, all she cares about is that he's dead and she's falling apart. She feels so alone, so vulnerable. She's in a pit and she'll never be able to scale the slippery walls. All she can do is weep deep, agonized, tears.

Suddenly, she hears someone call, "Blaise!" And there's a strong arm around her, and someone saying in a soothing voice, "Shh, shh, it's okay," and it registers in her brain dimly that it's Mal. She puts a shaky hand on his shoulder for stability, but she can't say anything because she literally can't stop, and can only bow her head and sob wholeheartedly.

They're both on the ground, the knees of their outfits getting grass stained and dirty, but they don't care. Mal pulls her into a hug and croons softly to her, "It's okay, it's okay, let it out."

"I want him back," she wails into his shoulder, "I want him back!"

"I know," is the only response, and she knows it's because she can't have him. He's gone forever, and it's all her fault.

They stay there for an hour, long after Blaise finishes her crying, and sit there, clutching each other.

She wonders if this living hell will ever end.

The gravestone, staring back at her evenly, says it won't.

OoOoO

"Jeremy!" Blaise shoots upwards, rocking the bed with the force of her movement. Tears have tracked down from the corners of her eyes down her temples, evidence of the nightmare, and she rocks forward, her head in her hands as she takes in shuddering, gasping breaths.

Jeremy jerks awake at the sound of her scream, and, sleep still blurring his vision, fumbles for the pistol under his pillow. He sits up and cocks it, holding it at the ready to shoot any trespassing criminal in their room. Seeing no-one but the heaving Blaise, however, he sighs and lowers his guard, un-priming the gun and placing it back under his pillow. He props himself up on his arm, exposing his chiseled, naked chest, and waits for Blaise to say something.

She doesn't, however, simply grabs the glass of water on the bedside table and guzzles it down, leaving not a drop before she slams it down once more. She wipes a shaking hand across her mouth and squeezes her eyes shut, hunching over and concentrating on regulating her breathing.

Jeremy watches her, and even though she is shaking, disheveled, and has been crying, he can't help but be attracted by her incredible beauty. "Blaise?" he murmurs, wanting to help but not sure if he'll be able to. He never can, when these nightmares come on.

"M'fine," she snaps. When his hand touches her bare shoulder, she flinches away, belying her previous statement.

"...Do you want to talk about it?"

"No." Her tone is flat, and decided. She's starting to put up the brick wall again, and Jeremy refuses to be shut out.

"Was it the same one?"

She pauses a moment before gumming her lips and nodding, as if ashamed of the fact. "It was so real," she whispers, a haunted tone entering her voice. "I was there...and you were...you were..." Her voice hitches and she clears her throat, suddenly brusque. "It's nothing," she states, turning away and fluffing her pillow irritably.

Jeremy sighs and hold his hand out, beckoning her closer. "Come here, Blaise."

"I'm fine, Jeremy," Blaise snaps, and makes to lay back down again.

"I didn't ask if you were fine, I said, come...here," he grunts out, looping an arm over her body and snagging her towards himself. She squeaks as she hits the comforters unexpectedly, and Jeremy lets loose a chuckle as he flips her over so she faces him. The smile on his face fades slowly as he stares at her, captivated in her eyes. There is a pregnant pause as they stare at each other, faces almost touching, before Jeremy speaks. "I'm okay, Blaise," he says quietly, yet ardently. "You're okay. We're okay." His hand reaches out and brushes smooth a stray wisp of hair, then slowly winds its way down to her temple, where he wipes away the wet tear tracks.

Blaise's gaze lowers, her eyes darkening in embarrassment, until it rests upon the middle of his chiseled chest, where there rests a thick layer of scar tissue. Her finger traces the smooth edges, going slowly round the mark. Jeremy takes her calloused fingers in his own and brings it to his mouth, kissing the knuckles gently. "I'm not going anywhere," he whispers, gaze boring deep into her eyes.

She manages a half smile and just barely nods her head.

Jeremy smiles in return. "Come on," he suggests, "try and go back to sleep." Blaise sighs and turns over so they're in a spooning position, Jeremy's arm laying across her blanket-covered hip.

She won't be able to sleep again, she knows it. The images are too real, too close, still. Well, she can at least fake it, and let Jeremy get some rest. He needs it. She stills herself, closing her eyes and breathing deeply. She is quiet for a good ten minutes, content listening to Jeremy breath softly. She figures after that duration of time that it's safe to shift slightly, so she moves her itching leg just slightly to the left.

"Go to sleep, Blaise," Jeremy mumbles the order next to her.

Blaise sighs in frustration. She should've known he'd know. The damn "rookie" is aware of everything. "I can't sleep," she grunts irritably. "I'm too awake now."

"Mmm," Jeremy hums in response, and Blaise can just imagine his eyes drifting closed once more. Still, it doesn't stop her hand from crossing over her back to the other side of her body and inching towards his nether regions. "Jeremy?"

"Hmm?"

"Wanna have some crazy good sex?"

Jeremy wastes no time in flipping her around, a grin forming on his face. His hands are already roaming her skin as he confesses, "I thought you'd never ask."

-finis

**Well, there you have it. Some nice angst with a nice happy ending. Yay. :3 Please review for me! I love you all(: **


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